Chapter Text
Mira opened her eyes to find both hands gripping the steering wheel.
For one disorienting second, she could not remember getting into the SUV. The road stretched ahead beneath the headlights, nearly empty as it carried them toward the city limits. But something about it felt familiar, as if some part of her had been here before.
Because she had been. They both had.
Zoey sat beside her in the passenger seat. Her eyes opened at almost the same moment, and she looked around quickly before turning toward Mira.
“We made it,” she whispered.
Mira glanced into the rearview mirror. Rumi lay slumped across the back seat, her head tipped against the window and her arms hanging loosely at her sides. She looked asleep at first, but there was nothing peaceful about the tightness around her eyes or the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Zoey followed Mira’s gaze. She unbuckled her seat belt and climbed awkwardly between the front seats, one knee catching against the center console before she lowered herself beside Rumi.
“Rumi?” Zoey touched her shoulder carefully. “Ru, can you hear me?”
Rumi gasped awake.
Her whole body jerked as one hand flew to her abdomen, fingers clawing through the fabric of her jacket as though trying to tear something out. Her eyes were wide but unfocused, staring past Zoey as if the threat were still in front of her. A broken sound caught in her throat as she pressed herself deeper against the door.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Zoey caught her wrists before she could hurt herself. “It’s me. You’re safe.”
Rumi stared at her.
A tear slid silently down her cheek. She did not wipe it away, only pulled her arms against herself once Zoey released her, hugging her middle with both arms, like pressure alone was keeping her upright. Her breathing remained shallow, each inhale trembling before she could force it back under control.
Mira checked the road, then guided the SUV onto the shoulder just before they crossed beyond the city limits. Gravel crackled beneath the tires as the vehicle slowed, and she switched on the hazard lights before putting it in park.
Rumi’s head snapped toward the front. “What are you doing?” Her voice was rough, each word catching around tears she refused to shed.
Mira turned in her seat. “We need to talk.”
“No.” Rumi dragged the back of one hand across her face. “There’s no time to talk. We need to get to the racetrack now, or everyone is going to die.”
Mira frowned. “What do you mean, everyone is going to die? We saved them.”
Rumi went still.
Zoey kept one hand near her arm but did not touch her again. “Rumi?”
“You don’t understand.” Rumi looked toward the windshield, panic sharpening her voice. “If we’re late, everyone disappears. Sometimes we get there and there’s nobody left except their bikes and belongings. One time I saved a rider, but we couldn’t save the dog.”
Her fingers tightened around her sleeves.
“I’ve lived this day more times than I can count.”
Mira and Zoey exchanged a look.
“A time loop?” Zoey blurted.
Mira rubbed a hand across her face. “You’ve been reliving the same night over and over?”
Rumi’s eyes flicked between them, and she shook her head impatiently. She unbuckled her seat belt and swung the door open. “We need to get out now so I can bring us over. It’s the only way we ever make it on time.”
“Rumi…”
“Look, I already know what you’re going to say…”
Mira switched off the engine and climbed out before Rumi could make it past the open door. By the time Rumi turned toward the open door, Mira was already there, blocking the way.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Mira, we don’t have time for this.”
“Then stop trying to run and tell us what’s happening.”
Rumi let her hand rest on the doorframe for a moment, then dropped it with a tired sigh. The fight seemed to leave her all at once.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Mira waited, expecting another argument, but none came. Rumi simply stepped back from the open door. Not trusting the sudden surrender, Mira took the opportunity and climbed into the rear seat before Rumi could change her mind.
“Like I was saying, this is usually when you tell us you’ve been there before. That it’s a dirt bike racing track on the outskirts of the city. Kinda illegal, but that’s what draws the crowd.”
Mira’s frown deepened. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
Rumi stared at her.
“I did say that,” Mira continued slowly. “Last night.”
Rumi blinked at her. “What?”
Mira held her gaze.
***
For several seconds, Rumi waited for the explanation that should have followed. Zoey should have asked how large the crowd was.
Nothing happened.
“You know,” Rumi said at last, her voice unsteady, “I have to admit, that’s new.”
Zoey’s expression tightened. “What is?”
“You’ve never deviated from the script before.” Rumi looked between them, the first flicker of relief curdling into suspicion. “Not this early.”
Mira held her gaze. “Because those weren’t us.”
Rumi stared at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means whatever you’ve been reliving, we weren’t part of it.” Mira’s voice softened. “Not until now.”
Rumi frowned. The more they spoke, the less sense it made. Their words should have reassured her, but instead they made her stomach twist tighter.
In every loop, Mira and Zoey had been there with her, fighting demons, saving souls, pushing through impossible battles. They had never tried to stop her from reaching a breach.
But these Mira and Zoey had. They were stalling her, delaying her while lives hung in the balance.
But why? Unless they weren’t really—
Her saingeom answered before the thought fully formed, materializing in her hand.
Zoey lifted both arms and pressed herself back against the side window. “Whoa. Easy, Ruru. At least hear us out before you start stabbing people.”
“If you’re really Mira and Zoey, tell me something only we would know,” Rumi said, tightening her grip on the hilt.
Then she caught herself.
“No, wait. That wouldn’t prove anything.” Her grip tightened around the saingeom. “Anything I remember, this place could throw back at me. If I’m the one reliving it, then maybe it’s tied to what I know. Whatever you say still can’t be trusted.”
Her eyes dropped to their arms. “Lift up your shirts.”
Zoey blinked. “What?”
“Prove you don’t have patterns.”
“At least take a girl to dinner first,” Mira said, reaching for the zipper of her jacket.
Rumi shook her head before she could pull it down.
“No. That wouldn’t prove anything either. If you can look like them, you can make the patterns disappear.” Her breathing quickened as each possible test collapsed beneath its own logic. “There’s nothing you can show me. Nothing you can say. None of this makes any sense.”
“You’re right,” Mira said.
Rumi blinked.
“There’s nothing we can say or do that will prove we’re real. Not if you’ve already decided every answer could be part of the construct.”
Zoey groaned. “Is that supposed to help? Don’t poke the bear. We don’t know what happens if we die in here.”
Mira ignored her.
“Seriously, though,” Zoey continued. “When have we ever stood around having long arguments with demons? Almost never. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Despite herself, Rumi’s gaze flicked toward her.
“Trust your gut,” Mira said.
Rumi gave a strained laugh. “The same gut that’s been getting me killed all day?”
“No. That was fear.” Mira leaned slightly closer, showing no concern for the blade between them. “You didn’t draw that sword because we felt wrong. You drew it because you were afraid we might be right.”
The saingeom flickered.
Mira held her gaze. “Just hear us out first. Don’t we deserve that much?”
Rumi looked at Zoey, then back at Mira. Neither of them rushed to fill the silence. Zoey looked frightened beneath the careful lightness of her voice. Mira looked exhausted, stubborn, and entirely unconcerned with the glowing blade between them.
It was not proof. It was barely even a reason. But it was enough to make her hesitate.
“Start talking.”
“The racetrack wasn’t the first breach,” Mira said. “The construction site was.”
The words hit wrong. “No. The racetrack always happens first.”
“Not yesterday,” Zoey said. “It was raining, and you started humming because the water was hitting the pipes.”
Zoey softly sang the familiar chorus, her voice barely rising above the quiet hum of the engine.
Rumi froze. “You shouldn’t know that. It hasn’t happened yet. Not in this loop.”
“It already happened, Ru,” Zoey said. “The small horned demon? Min-jae? He heard you sing, but he wasn’t ready to move on.”
Rumi frowned, trying to fit the words into the shape of the day she thought she understood.
“What we’re trying to tell you is that none of this is real,” Zoey said.
“I know that.” Rumi gave her a tired look. “You never remember any of the loops when they start over.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” Zoey gestured toward the windshield, the road, then the dark city behind them. “We’re real. But this place isn’t. All of this is happening inside your head, and we’re in here with you now.”
Rumi looked between them as though expecting one of them to admit this was a badly timed joke. “That makes even less sense.”
Zoey’s mouth twisted. “In fairness, none of today has made much sense.”
Rumi stared at them, waiting for the world to correct itself. The loop should have pushed back by now. It should have dragged them toward the racetrack. Instead, Zoey only looked scared beneath the joke, and Mira watched her with the careful patience of someone who knew one wrong move might send Rumi running.
If this was still part of the loop, Rumi did not understand what it was trying to do. But they seemed real enough that she could not bring herself to treat them like enemies.
For a moment, Rumi said nothing. Then the saingeom faded from her hand.
Mira’s gaze stayed on her through the space between the seats, steady and careful enough to make Rumi want to look away. Exhaustion sat heavy behind Rumi’s eyes. Whatever she had endured inside the loops, she had endured believing she was the only one who would carry any of it forward.
Mira softened her voice. “How does each loop end?”
Rumi’s fingers returned to her abdomen. “Most of the time, I get stabbed by a flaming sword. Then, moments later, I wake up in this car again.”
“Do you remember who stabbed you?” Zoey asked carefully.
“Mystery.”
***
Mystery. Mira frowned. At least that part remained consistent with what had actually happened. Mystery had driven the sword through Rumi at the final site before disappearing, and they had brought her back with the blade still blazing inside her.
Rumi pushed a hand through her hair. “If this isn’t real, then what is? Where are we really?”
Mira exchanged a glance with Zoey before answering. “We think this is a construct built from your memories, and whoever created it is using it to mess with your mind,” she said. “But your body hasn’t gone anywhere. You’re still in the warehouse. We brought you back after you were stabbed.”
Zoey nodded. “We tried every way we could think of to get the sword out of you, but nothing worked. Your heart has stopped so many times. If not for the Honmoon…”
Her voice trailed off.
Rumi’s expression tightened. “Was it Mystery? Was that part real?”
Zoey nodded.
Rumi’s eyes sharpened. “How did he get out of the circle?”
“We’re not sure,” Mira admitted. “Celine was watching them, but no one has been able to reach her since.”
Rumi’s head snapped toward her. “Celine’s missing?”
Mira nodded.
Rumi frowned. “Who else?”
Mira hesitated. Jinu’s name felt dangerous in a way she did not fully understand, but she knew enough to tread carefully. Whatever had happened between him and Rumi, it had never been simple.
“Jinu,” she said.
***
Jinu.
Rumi gritted her teeth, her gaze sharpening as she weighed what that could mean.
“Jinu?” she repeated, as though saying his name might tell her what his disappearance meant.
It did not. He could have escaped with Mystery, followed him, or tried to stop him. Rumi no longer knew which possibility to believe.
She looked between Mira and Zoey as the possibilities rearranged themselves into something worse. Jinu’s disappearance could mean almost anything. Celine’s could not.
“Do you think they’re connected?” Rumi asked. Maybe Celine had gone after them. That would explain her absence. It had to, because the alternative made something cold settle beneath Rumi’s ribs.
“Probably,” Mira said. “Celine wouldn’t abandon her post, and the other three refuse to talk. But we don’t know what happened. She isn’t answering her phone, and no one has seen her since Mystery and Jinu disappeared.”
It wasn’t like Celine to be unreachable. Maybe her phone was damaged. Maybe she had gone after Mystery and Jinu and ended up somewhere with no signal.
Celine knew how to survive worse than this. She had to be fine, because if Celine was missing for real, then Rumi did not have time to sit here untangling whatever the hell this was. She needed out.
“How long has it been?” Rumi asked, the words catching in her throat. “Since I got stabbed?”
“About four hours, give or take,” Mira said.
Rumi felt the blood drain from her face. “Just four hours?”
It had felt endless. Worse, somehow, than the demon realm. There, she had at least been able to move through the horror. Here, she kept waking inside the same nightmare, with pieces of herself already missing.
Zoey squeezed her leg gently. “How many times have you gone through it?”
“At least a dozen that I can remember.” Rumi stared down at her hands in her lap. “Sometimes I wake up with pieces already missing. Sometimes all I remember is the sword.” She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to shake. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
Rumi looked up. “What actually happened?”
“After we left the warehouse, we headed to the construction site first,” Mira said. “The demons were scattered through the site, lost in their own heads instead of attacking. Then you started singing. One by one, they chose to move on.”
Mira hesitated before continuing.
“Except Min-jae. He stayed behind because he needed more time. He told us the stories were spreading, and that he would tell the others you could make the voices stop.” Her voice lowered slightly. “Then he warned us that Gwi-Ma was planning something big.”
Rumi listened, trying to place Mira’s words against the memories already inside her. She remembered the rain striking the hollow pipes, the thin metallic rhythm of water dripping against exposed rebar, and the plastic sheets snapping softly in the wind. She remembered starting to hum that song without thinking, and Min-jae rubbing nervously at one horn while admitting he was not ready.
“Then we went to the racetrack,” Zoey continued. “But by the time we got there, the attack had already started.”
Rumi’s fingers tightened around her sleeve. In the loops, the racetrack had worn too many faces. Sometimes it was empty. Sometimes it was crowded. Sometimes she was early enough to change things, and sometimes every choice only traded one loss for another.
“You started singing almost as soon as we got out of the SUV,” Mira said. “Some of the demons stopped. Others kept attacking, so we fought the ones the song couldn’t reach.”
“How many?” Rumi asked, though she was not sure she wanted the answer.
Mira’s expression softened. “We saved some.”
“Not all,” Zoey said quietly. “The police arrived before the breach fully settled, and we had to leave before they could close in on us.”
Rumi closed her eyes for a moment. Not all. The words hurt because they were real, because they did not swell into nightmare or rewrite themselves into total failure. Some had lived. Some had not. That was worse in a quieter way.
When she opened her eyes again, another piece of the loop pressed forward. The bike. The crowd. That impossible wink across the mud and floodlights. Wild Rose on a borrowed bike, taking out demons on the racetrack with ridiculous style.
But Zoey had not mentioned any of it.
Of course she had not. Wild Rose had existed only in Rumi’s mind, a strange little mercy dressed up as a memory, and maybe Rumi should have realized that sooner. The real Mira would never look at her that way.
Would she?
Rumi refused to dwell on it. She had no room left for false memories, not when the real losses were heavy enough.
She drew a careful breath. “Then Myeong-dong.”
“We got there early, long before the breach opened,” Mira said. “Zoey bought us hotteok, and we talked about Jinu and your father while we waited.”
Rumi nodded slowly. “Then the breach opened, and the faceless demons flooded the plaza.”
Mira frowned. “No. They weren’t faceless.”
Rumi looked at her.
“The horned demons flooded the plaza,” Mira continued carefully. “It was the same plaza where the Saja Boys first performed ‘Soda Pop’.”
The two memories pressed against each other.
Faceless creatures poured through the streets beneath cheerful neon, leaving abandoned phones and half-eaten meals behind them.
Beneath that came another image. The plaza packed with people. Zoey fighting beside her. Mira’s glowing blade cutting through a demon before it could reach a group of tourists.
The loop had not been neat. It had been frantic, loud, and full of mistakes too. But its mess always bent toward the same ending, every wrong turn dragging Rumi closer to failure.
Reality felt different. Zoey had stumbled when someone knocked into her. Mira had shouted at Rumi to watch her left, then sworn when Rumi went right instead. They had interrupted each other, made mistakes, and adjusted.
Nothing had unfolded exactly as it was supposed to, but it had not been trying to trap her inside one conclusion. It had simply happened.
“We saved most of them, but we lost a few,” Mira continued. “There was no way to fight a horde that size without being seen. I’m not sure how Bobby is going to explain why HUNTR/X appeared in Myeong-dong with glowing weapons.”
“Probably a comeback promo,” Zoey said. “Maybe we should just make our next album about hunting demons. It would make a great cover story for our other activities.”
A small laugh escaped Rumi before the weight of the memories pulled it away. “What about the bus stop? Was that real?” Her fingers tightened around her sleeve. “I saved a boy in a taxi.”
“Another breach opened while we were still trying to close the one in Myeong-dong,” Mira said. “You teleported ahead without us. You saved the child in the taxi, then reached a lot of other people before we caught up.”
Rumi searched her face. “Did we save everyone?”
“No,” Mira said gently. “Not everyone.”
The answer hurt, but it did not shift beneath Rumi’s feet. Mira did not tell her everyone had survived only for the loop to change its mind later. The loss remained real, terrible, and finite instead of spreading until it swallowed the entire street.
“We found ourselves at a kindergarten next,” Zoey said. “The children were adorable. A little girl really liked your patterns. You ended up wearing a flower crown, and then told us you could fly.”
“Mira immediately decided your hypothetical child would be impossible to discipline,” Zoey added.
“They would be, unless you could catch them,” Mira scoffed.
Rumi closed her eyes. Another tear escaped, but this one seemed born from something more complicated than grief. She had not imagined everything. Those moments had happened, even if someone had torn them apart and rearranged them until she no longer recognized the life beneath them.
“What happened at the end?” she asked.
Mira turned fully toward her. “After the kindergarten, a new breach opened at an old ceremonial ground beside a lake. It was teeming with water demons.”
“There was a huge ogre-like demon,” Mira continued. “It slammed me into one of the stone walls. I hit my head pretty hard. I was dazed, but I wasn’t dead.”
“I thought you were,” Zoey said. “You just crumpled, and Rumi appeared in front of you before I could even reach you.”
Rumi’s gaze went distant. She could remember the wall, the lake, the awful stillness of Mira’s body on the ground. She remembered teleporting before she had decided to move, her knees hitting stone as she reached for Mira’s shoulder. Mira’s eyes had been open, wide with horror, and for one strange second Rumi had not understood why.
Then the blade had gone through her.
She looked down in the memory and saw the flaming sword jutting from her body. But it was not the pain she remembered first. It was the despair, sudden and crushing, as if the blade had split her open and poured the end of the world inside.
“Then he stabbed me,” Rumi said.
“Yes,” Mira said quietly.
Rumi’s fingers curled against her abdomen. For a moment, the false version pushed forward again: Myeong-dong, faceless demons, Mystery in the plaza.
Then the real memory settled beneath it. The lake, the stone walls, Mira alive on the ground, and Mystery behind her.
They had already walked her through the hunt, piece by piece, right up to the moment the sword went through her.
Everything had a place now, even the parts that hurt.
Which only made the memories with no place feel stranger.
Rumi’s mouth trembled. A smile almost surfaced, but the memory broke before it could become one. Dark water below, Mira standing close enough for their shoulders to touch, Zoey listening without interrupting while Rumi confessed everything she had been too afraid to say before.
The conversation had unfolded exactly the way some secret part of her had wanted it to. Every silence had given her room to speak. Every answer had been gentle in the way she had needed most.
Now she understood why.
The loop had not made strangers wearing Mira’s and Zoey’s faces. It had made them from Rumi’s own heart, from everything she believed they might say if she ever found the courage to tell them the truth. Their kindness had not been meaningless, but it had not been theirs either. It had been her hope speaking back to her in their voices.
Rumi looked between them. “The bridge wasn’t real, was it?”
Mira and Zoey exchanged an uncertain glance. The hesitation gave Rumi her answer before either of them spoke.
“No,” Mira said quietly. “That didn’t happen.”
Rumi pulled her leg from beneath Zoey’s hand and turned toward the dark glass beside her. Her reflection stared back over the darkness outside, pale with exhaustion while a faint red glow pulsed beneath the patterns along her neck.
It was strange being with these versions of Mira and Zoey. No. Not versions. The real ones. Rumi believed that now, or at least believed it enough to let the thought hurt. They knew nothing about the confessions she had already made to their shadows. They did not remember the softness that had followed, or the way she had let herself believe, for one impossible moment, that saying the truth might not cost her anything.
“Hey,” Mira said. “Whatever you told us, if it was important to you, we’ll have that conversation again. You can tell us everything when we get out of here, and this time we’ll remember.”
Rumi stared down at their joined hands. “It won’t be the same.”
“No,” Mira admitted. “But it will be real.”
Rumi pulled once against her grip, though there was little force behind it. “You don’t know what happens here. It always gets worse. Even when I change things, it finds another way to take something from me.”
A faint red glow spread through the cracks in the road beneath the SUV. It gathered slowly at first, threading through the asphalt like veins before washing the underside of the vehicle in crimson.
Somewhere above them, something vast groaned. The sound rolled across the sky like glass straining beneath too much weight, and Rumi lifted her head sharply.
“The Honmoon.”
Mira followed her gaze toward the windshield. “It’s been doing that outside too.”
Rumi turned toward her. “What do you mean?”
“The sword flares first,” Mira said. “Then your patterns turn red, and the Honmoon strains like something is dragging the damage through you.”
The anger went out of her all at once. “I’m doing that?”
“No!” Mira said immediately. “Someone is doing it to you.”
“But it’s reacting to me.”
Zoey looked from the red cracks beneath the SUV to the patterns glowing along Rumi’s neck. “Maybe that’s why the loops keep happening. They’re forcing you through the worst moments of your life until you lose hope, then using that despair against the Honmoon.”
Rumi stared at the light beneath her feet. The words opened something inside her, and the failures returned in broken flashes. Hundreds of phones lay abandoned across the racetrack. Myeong-dong stood empty beneath cheerful neon lights. The dog remained motionless in the mud while Mira and Zoey lay crumpled across scorched ground.
Her breathing quickened.
The red glow intensified with every shallow breath, climbing from the road into the SUV’s metal frame. Rumi pulled her hand from Mira’s and pressed both palms against her temples, but the memories continued forcing themselves forward.
“I’ve been tearing it apart.”
“No.” Mira shifted closer. “Rumi, look at me.”
Rumi squeezed her eyes shut. “Every time I failed, every time one of you died…”
“You didn’t fail.”
“I watched you die.”
“But we didn’t,” Mira said. “Those people didn’t disappear. The dog lived, the rider lived, and we are sitting beside you right now.”
The glow continued to brighten. Rumi’s breath caught halfway into her lungs, then broke into another shallow gasp.
Mira wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close.
Rumi stiffened immediately, one hand braced against Mira’s shoulder as though she meant to push her away. Mira held on without tightening her grip, giving her enough room to leave while making it clear she had no intention of disappearing.
“Deep breaths, Rumi,” Mira murmured. “You’re in the car with us. Feel the seat beneath you and listen to my voice.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Breathe with me.”
Mira drew in a slow breath. Zoey took Rumi’s hand from her other side and gave it a gentle squeeze, then another, matching the slow rhythm of Mira’s breathing while exaggerating the rise and fall of her chest so Rumi could follow along.
“In,” Zoey said softly. “Then out.”
Rumi’s first attempt broke apart before she filled her lungs. Mira kept one hand against the back of her head while the other rested between her shoulder blades, steady and warm.
“Again,” Mira said.
Rumi dragged in another breath. It trembled on the way out, but it lasted longer.
“That’s it,” Zoey said. “One more.”
The images continued flashing behind Rumi’s closed eyes, but Mira’s arms remained around her. Zoey’s hand settled over hers, and neither of them vanished when she reached for them.
Her next breath came more slowly.
The red light beneath the SUV faltered. Rumi sagged against Mira, the resistance leaving her so suddenly that Mira had to adjust her grip to hold her upright. A tear slipped down Rumi’s cheek and soaked into Mira’s jacket.
“I watched you two die so many times,” Rumi whispered.
“I’m really sorry you had to go through that,” Mira said. “But we’re here now, and we’re both okay. We’re going to get out of here. Together.”
Zoey looked toward the windshield. “Whoever did this had to know what happened during the hunt.”
Rumi opened her eyes. “There was someone else.”
Mira’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “Who?”
“A man dressed in black. He wore a wide-brimmed hat.” Rumi looked toward the dark road beyond the windshield. “I could never see his face. Only his glowing red eyes.”
Mira frowned. “Where did you see him?”
“At Myeong-dong. He was standing beneath an awning, then he appeared on a rooftop.” Rumi’s voice slowed as the memories shifted into place.
Zoey looked at Mira. “I never saw him.”
“Neither did I,” Mira said. “There was no man in black at Myeong-dong. Not in reality.”
The hazard lights continued clicking, amber flashes passing through the SUV while the world outside grew steadily darker. The buildings behind them had disappeared, though none of them had noticed when it happened.
Rumi looked out through the rear window. “After I noticed him the first time, I started seeing him everywhere. Sometimes it wasn’t even a figure. Once it was just glowing red eyes on a building. I was starting to believe I was making him up.”
Mira went suddenly still. Her hand tightened against Rumi’s shoulder, and her gaze lifted toward the rearview mirror. Rumi followed it, but by then the mirror held only darkness and the faint amber pulse of the hazard lights.
Zoey turned toward Mira. “What?”
Mira kept her gaze fixed on the empty mirror. “No. You weren’t imagining him. He’s watching us.”
“We’re getting you out of here, Rumi,” Mira said. “Whatever it takes.”
“How?”
“We have to figure out what’s keeping you here,” Mira said. “And it’s starting to feel like Red Eyes has something to do with this.”
The words seemed to wake the road beneath them. A thin red pulse moved through the cracks in the asphalt, faint at first, then brighter as it stretched toward the dark behind the SUV.
***
Mira’s hand tightened once against Rumi’s shoulder. “We need to move.”
She pulled away just long enough to climb back into the driver’s seat. Zoey shifted beside Rumi, one hand still wrapped around hers, while Mira started the engine and eased the SUV off the shoulder. The hazard lights clicked off, and for a moment, the darkness outside seemed too complete without them.
Rumi looked at Mira through the rearview mirror. “Earlier, you said you didn’t know what would happen if you died here.” She hesitated. “Wouldn’t the loop just restart?”
“For you, maybe,” Zoey said. “It’s your soul in your body. We’re in yours now, and ours are barely tethered to our bodies. Wol-yeong warned us that if we die inside your mind, the connection could break before we return.”
“Disconnect you from your bodies?” Rumi asked.
Mira did not soften the answer. “Maybe. Maybe trap us here. Maybe leave our bodies breathing but empty.”
Rumi’s face went pale. “What happens then?”
“We don’t know,” Zoey said. “Our bodies could remain unconscious. Our minds might become trapped here.”
“No. You need to leave. I won’t lose you again.” Rumi pulled her hand back. “I’m not worth the risk. I’ll figure this out on my own.”
“Not worth the—” Mira broke off with a sharp, humorless breath. Her eyes flicked to Rumi in the rearview mirror, and for half a second, Rumi seemed to stop breathing.
“No,” Mira said. “I am so tired of watching you do this.”
Rumi blinked. “Do what?”
“Decide you’re the acceptable loss.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do,” Mira said, and the certainty in her voice cut straight through the denial. “You step between us and whatever is coming because you think taking the hit yourself is better than letting anyone else get close. You hide injuries, you brush off pain, and you call it strategy when what you really mean is that your body can take it.”
“That is strategy,” Rumi said, too quickly. “I do heal faster. I’m stronger, and I’m the leader. Your safety is my responsibility.”
“And there it is,” Mira said.
Rumi frowned. “There what is?”
“You always make it sound reasonable.” Mira’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “At first, I thought you did it because you felt responsible. Because you thought that was what a leader was supposed to do. But now it sounds like you do it because you think your life matters less than ours.”
Rumi stared at the back of her seat. “Because it does. I’m part demon, Mira. We were trained to kill demons. I shouldn’t exist.”
Mira caught Zoey’s reflection in the mirror. For once, Zoey did not jump in. She only watched Rumi, and the look on her face told Mira she was not the only one who had heard how easily Rumi believed it.
The SUV rolled to a stop.
Rumi looked through the windshield, then back at Mira’s reflection. “Okay,” she said weakly. “That sounded worse out loud.”
Mira put the car in park, but she did not turn around. Her eyes stayed on Rumi through the mirror, sharp enough to make the flat certainty in Rumi’s voice falter.
“At the final site, when I went down, you came for me without thinking,” Mira said. “And I am not saying you should have left me there. I am saying Mystery knew exactly where you would be because you always put yourself between us and the blade.”
Rumi looked away. “Mira…”
“No.” Mira’s voice was still sharp, but something in it shifted, the anger bending under the weight of something sadder. “You do not get to tell us you are not worth the risk after proving, over and over, that you think we are.”
The fight slipped from Rumi’s face, leaving something Mira wished she had not had to put there.
Mira drew in a breath. When she spoke again, her voice came out quieter, which only made Rumi look more shaken. “Is that really what you think? That because you’re part demon, you matter less to us? That we would look at you, after everything, and decide you are easier to lose?”
Rumi opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Mira’s shoulders lowered, some of the anger draining out of her. “We chose to be here. We knew we might not make it back, and we came anyway. Doesn’t that say enough about what you mean to us? Or have we really done such a terrible job of showing you that you matter?”
Rumi stared at Mira’s reflection, too still now, as if the words had found something she had no way to defend.
“I—”
“Guys,” Zoey said suddenly.
The sharpness in her voice cut through the SUV. Rumi turned, following Zoey’s gaze through the windshield.
Outside, the red cracks in the road pulsed again. For one terrifying second, Rumi’s expression tightened as if she expected the loop to punish her for listening. Then a thin thread of blue flickered through the red, faint as light beneath glass, and ran along the asphalt ahead of them.
Mira went still.
Zoey’s fingers closed around Rumi’s hand. “Did you see that?”
Rumi stared at the blue light as it stretched into the dark, not breaking the road this time, but marking it.
Zoey leaned forward. “Well, if this is a video game, we are definitely supposed to follow the glowing quest path.”
For the first time, Mira did not see the light as another crack in the world. She saw it as a direction.
It looked like the Honmoon was trying to lead them somewhere.